Ravish Me with Rubies

by Jane Feather

  “I expect so, Lady Rutherford,” Diana said with a soothing smile, hearing the rising note of agitation in the lady’s voice. “Shall we go down now? We’ll be waiting at the church, Petra darling.”

  “Don’t forget your flowers.” Fenella picked up the small bouquet of white roses and twisted the silver paper more securely around the stems before handing them to Petra. “You’re not anxious?”

  “No.” Petra shook her head, the ruby earrings dancing. “What is there to be anxious about?”

  “Nothing at all.” Fenella kissed her and left the bedroom with Diana and Lady Rutherford.

  For a moment, Petra stood alone in the middle of her childhood bedroom. Should she be nervous? But she was aware only of excitement, of anticipation. It wasn’t as if there were any secrets of matrimony that she had to discover. Her mother had murmured some vague words about the wedding night and how it might be a little painful, but her husband had his rights and a wife must always yield to his demands, however disinclined she might be.

  It had occurred to Petra that such a maternal warning would be more likely to terrify a virgin bride than prepare her for what was to come. Her mother had then said she should ask Diana and Fenella for details of what she should expect, and had gone her way clearly considering she had done her duty by her daughter.

  She gathered herself together, checked her appearance one last time, then went downstairs where Sir Percy awaited her in the hall. “Oh, good. There you are,” he greeted her as she came down the stairs. Then stared at her. “Dear God in heaven, where did those rubies come from?”

  “They’re the Granville rubies, Pa. Guy wanted me to wear them. Apparently they’re traditional for Ashton brides.”

  “Well, they’re magnificent stones, and they suit you well, m’dear. Come, let us go and get you married.” He offered his arm. Petra took it, smiling. Her father somehow was much easier to be with than her mother.

  The barouche, drawn by a pair of splendid grays, their harnesses decorated with orange blossoms, waited in the driveway, the coachman, resplendent in Rutherford livery, sat on the box, a groom at the footstep, holding the door. Petra stepped up, Sir Percy followed, and the carriage moved off for the very short drive to the church at the end of the long driveway.

  Diana and Fenella were waiting at the porch, two matrons of honor to follow the bride and her father up the aisle. Jonathan stood just inside, having ushered guests to their pews and seated his mother. The organ, played as always by the village organist, began and Petra and her father began the slow walk up the short aisle to the altar.

  Guy stood waiting, his best man beside him. He watched Petra’s steady approach and felt a rush of warmth, a sense that this time in his life he was doing absolutely the right thing. He wanted this woman, he wanted to love her, and protect her, and he was not averse to clashing wills with her either. Petra Rutherford was everything and more than he could have wanted in a bride, his match in every arena. She gave him a radiant smile as she stepped up beside him and he was hard-pressed to refrain from breaking tradition again and kissing her.

  Petra let the ceremonial words wash over her, responding as necessary, clearly and without hesitation, and when the last words were spoken she tipped her face up for her husband’s kiss with another radiant smile.

  They walked out of the church to the welcoming crowd of villagers, many of whom had known Petra since childhood, and all of whom, Somerset folk as they were, knew plenty about Lord Ashton of Ashton Court, a stately home some ten miles from the Rutherfords’ village.

  Confetti showered the couple as they walked to the waiting carriage outside the lych-gate. Petra responded to the congratulations shouted from all sides and stopped several times to receive single flowers offered by individuals who were particularly close to the Rutherford family. Guy, for his part, kept smiling throughout but heaved a sigh of relief when they reached the carriage and he had handed his bride up and climbed in beside her.

  “They’re why you wanted the wedding at home,” he said, finally understanding that this was Petra’s world, as the carriage started up the driveway back to the house.

  “Yes, exactly. They matter more to me than the whole of London’s ton,” Petra responded. “Joth feels the same. It’s why he’s so passionate in his commitment to his constituency.”

  Guy nodded, reflecting that in his own Somerset village the attentions he received from his tenants and local villagers were always polite, always respectful, but he couldn’t recall a moment when he’d been aware of affection from any of them. He followed in his father’s footsteps, expected his agent to run the estate, to treat the tenants well, attend to their needs, and as lord of the manor the baron could expect respect and loyalty in return.

  Petra cast him a sidelong glance, wondering why he was suddenly so somber. “Is everything all right, Guy?”

  He smiled. “Yes, my love, everything is fine. I just can’t wait to have you to myself, and it will be hours before that can happen.”

  Reassured, she leaned into him, lifting her face for his kiss just as the carriage drew up outside the open front doors of the house. The entire household was gathered at the bottom of the steps to greet the bridal couple with a shower of late summer roses as they went inside.

  * * *

  Three hours later, Petra turned to Guy, sitting beside her at the high table in the great hall. “I would like to go home now.”

  Guy looked around, the feasting was over and wedding guests were now dancing and strolling around the hall and adjoining salons, drinks in hand. “Then that’s what we will do,” he said, hiding his own relief. “Where’s your brother?” He glanced around the hall and caught Jonathan’s eye across the room.

  Jonathan made his way through the dancing couples to the table. “Are you ready to leave?”

  “Yes, how did you guess?” Petra asked.

  “Oh, just instinct,” her brother said with a chuckle. “Also, I could see you were getting restless. I’ll sort it out with Ma and Pa while you go and change?”

  Diana and Fenella appeared just as Petra pushed back her chair to stand up. “Ready to go and change?” Diana asked.

  “More than ready,” Petra answered. “Oh, what shall I do about the rubies, Guy?”

  “Keep them on,” he said. He leaned down to whisper, “I rather fancy making love to my bride dressed only in rubies.” Petra felt a warm flush suffuse her skin and a now familiar jolt of arousal in her belly. She said nothing, though, and stepped away from the table, flanked by her friends. Lady Rutherford, sitting with a group of ladies at the end of the table, saw her daughter move and swiftly came over to her. “Are you going to change now, my dear?”

  “Yes, it’s time we left, Ma. Is it all right if we do?”

  “Of course, my dear. The party will no doubt continue without you. You go upstairs. Your friends will help you, you don’t need me.”

  “No,” Petra agreed. “We can manage perfectly well. I’ll be about twenty minutes.”

  Upstairs in her bedroom, Dottie was waiting for her, festive in her own holiday dress of pale yellow organza.

  “Oh, Dottie, I told you you didn’t have to leave your own party,” Petra protested. The servants were celebrating with their own wedding breakfast in the servants’ hall. “I can manage with Mrs. Tremayne and Mrs. Lacey to help.”

  “Oh, I have to see you off proper, Miss Petra, oh, I mean, your ladyship,” the girl said half laughing at her confusion. “Oh, it’s going to take some getting used to.”

  “For me too,” Petra said, laughing herself. “But I’d rather you just called me Miss Petra as always, Dottie.”

  “Well, I’ll be waiting at Ashton Court when you and Lord Ashton get back from your honeymoon,” Dottie said. “Are you sure you won’t need me on the journey?”

  “Quite sure, thank you. We’re first going by train to Scotland to stay with Lord Ashton’s sister and she has plenty of staff, and when we go on to Italy I’ll use maids from the hotels where we
’ll be staying. Other than that, I can manage for myself.” With the able assistance of my husband, she reflected, but kept the reflection to herself.

  “It’s such a shame Guy’s sister couldn’t get to the wedding,” Diana observed.

  “Yes,” Petra agreed. “According to Guy it’s a hazard that goes with all those children. They’ve all had measles, one after the other, and Lady Elinor didn’t dare leave until they were all free of it.”

  “Well, at least you’ve already had it,” Fenella said. “Remember, we were all laid low in the school infirmary for weeks.”

  “It was quite fun once we started to feel better,” Petra responded with a chuckle. “Anyway, I’m really looking forward to meeting Elinor. Guy’s hopeless at giving a proper description. All I gather is that she’s middling height, has blue eyes and dark hair, and is preoccupied with the children. The duke is vague, spends most of his time in the library, except when he’s hunting or salmon fishing, and is generally unobjectionable.”

  She stood up from the dresser stool and smoothed down her dark blue wool skirt. “I think I’m ready to go down.” Dottie handed her a matching bolero jacket, which she slipped over a pale blue ruffled silk blouse. She gave her friends a rather hesitant smile. “Why am I nervous?”

  “You’re standing on the brink of the rest of your life,” Fenella said, kissing her cheek. “It’s a scary moment. I felt the same.”

  Petra nodded, swallowed, and left her childhood bedroom to descend the stairs to the great hall where the wedding guests were assembled. Her husband stood at the foot of the stairs. He held out his hand as she reached the bottom step and raised her gloved hand to his lips, his dark gaze seeming to swallow her whole. There were moments when the power of his full attention, the all-encompassing sweep of his gaze almost frightened her. It was as if she could lose herself in him, lose her sense of who she was, the hard contours of herself in the world as she knew it.

  “Come, madam wife,” he said softly. “Let us go home.”

  They left the overheated hall and stepped out into the late afternoon. The house stood on a cliff overlooking a bay on the mouth of the Severn River and the sea breeze was brisk and salt laden. Petra shivered.

  “Don’t worry, I have fur wraps in the motor,” Guy said. “You’ll warm up soon enough.”

  Petra looked at the bright red motor car standing in the driveway, a uniformed chauffeur holding the door. Its engine was already running. “I’ve never ridden in one of those.”

  “You’ll enjoy it,” he said confidently. “Your brother approves.”

  “Jonathan would,” she replied, before stepping into the vehicle.

  Guy reached into the dickey and pulled out a fur wrap. “Snuggle up in this.” He placed it over her shoulders and threw another one across her lap. “Get in the back, Johnson, I’ll drive,” he instructed the chauffeur as he climbed behind the wheel.

  Johnson inserted himself onto the dickey seat and the car moved away down the drive, wedding guests waving them off from the front steps.

  “How long will it take to get home in this?” Petra inquired, snuggling deeper into the fur wrap.

  “Ten miles, less than an hour,” Guy replied. “It’ll be drafty along the cliff road, but a lot quicker than a horse and carriage. Try to enjoy it, sweetheart.”

  To her surprise, Petra found it remarkably easy to enjoy the drive. The wind was certainly cold but she pulled the fur up to her ears and settled back to watch the coastline unfurl in front of them. The journey passed in a companionable silence, but when Guy turned the motor inland, just before they reached the seaside town of Weston-super-Mare, Petra felt anticipation creeping over her, making her skin tingle and her heart beat a little faster. She glanced sideways at Guy and saw that he was smiling faintly as he kept his eyes on the narrow road.

  “What will we do when we get home?” she asked, watching his expression.

  “Oh, a little of this, a little of that,” he answered casually, but his smile broadened. “What would you like to do, bride of mine?”

  She smiled and snuggled deeper into her fur. “Oh, a little of this, a little of that.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Innes Castle, the home of the Duke and Duchess of Brandon, was a many turreted edifice seated at the far end of a long narrow loch, nestled against the rugged cliff rising from the glen. The cliff sides were thick with heather, past its peak now, in early October, but still throwing off a wonderful purple haze.

  They had been journeying for almost a week, a week of wedding visits to important if distant relatives, who had not been invited to the wedding itself, a week of trains and carriages, and now they were sitting in an old-fashioned closed carriage that bumped and bounced along the uneven trails that passed for roads in this part of Scotland. Petra leaned far out of the window to get a better view of their destination. “It looks positively medieval,” she commented.

  “It was started in the eleventh century, I believe,” Guy replied. “Hamish will give you all the details if you ask him. There’s nothing he likes better than to discourse on his family history, although he’s spent little enough of his time up here in the wilds. He and Elinor both prefer Edinburgh when they’re not in London. But they like the children to spend summers up here, and, of course, August at Innes is sacrosanct for the shooting.”

  “Of course,” Petra murmured, sitting back in the carriage again. She clasped her gloved hands in her lap, feeling a little nervous about the upcoming meeting with Guy’s sister and her family. She couldn’t quite imagine a female Guy, and she was very curious to see how they were together. Elinor was two years older than her brother and had been married at eighteen. She now had eight children, which struck Petra as an astounding feat in a mere eighteen years despite the fact that such broods were perfectly normal in a true Victorian household. The queen herself had had nine children, but Petra was not alone in thinking that in the present more enlightened times women had other roles to play in life.

  The carriage rattled over a stone bridge crossing a swiftly running stream and proceeded up the driveway to draw up in front of the massive doors of the castle. The doors were flung open just as the coachman let down the footstep and opened the carriage door for Petra, who stepped down onto the gravel sweep to be met by a woman hurrying from the opened doors, a warm smile of greeting on her pretty, round face.

  “Petra, my dear Petra. I am so very happy to see you. Welcome to Innes.” She embraced Petra, who, instantly responsive, returned the embrace. “I am so sorry we couldn’t get to the wedding, but we shall make up for it, I promise you . . . Guy, so you did it at last.”

  “I did, Elinor,” Guy said, a smile in his voice as he bent to embrace his sister. She was much shorter than he and he half lifted her off her feet before kissing her warmly on both cheeks and setting her down again. “Hamish.” He held out his hand to a tall, thin gentleman standing beside Elinor. “Allow me to present my wife, Petra.” He drew Petra forward, his hand warm and reassuring around hers.

  Petra smiled up at the Duke of Brandon. He didn’t appear to be in the least intimidating, except for a rather faraway look in his eyes, but his smile was warm enough as he bowed over her hand and welcomed her to his home.

  At this moment a raucous tide of humanity swept out of the doors still standing open, surged across the gravel and engulfed Guy with shrieks of “Uncle Guy, Uncle Guy.”

  Petra watched in astonishment as Guy seemed to disappear under the onslaught, then reappeared with children clinging to him. He held a small girl on his hip as he laughingly fielded the others.

  “Enough, brats,” he exclaimed. “At least let me stand up straight.” He seemed to shake them off, like a horse shaking off flies, and they fell back in a babbling semicircle around him. “Be quiet for a moment, all of you,” he instructed in a voice that miraculously brought silence. He set the little girl on her feet. “I want you to meet your new aunt, Petra.” He reached for Petra’s hand and drew her up beside him. “For so
me reason at the moment I can’t remember all your names, so come up one at a time and introduce yourselves.”

  “Oh, Guy,” Elinor protested softly. “Of course you can remember their names.”

  Guy shook his head and crooked a finger at the tallest boy in the group. “I have a feeling you might be Adam.”

  The boy who was probably around fifteen, Petra guessed, laughed and came up to her and bowed. “My name’s Adam, Lady Ashton. Welcome to Innes.”

  “Thank you, Adam.” She shook hands solemnly and Adam took it upon himself to marshal his brothers and sisters and usher them forward to be introduced.

  Introductions completed, the children turned their attention to Guy again, swarming over him as they went into the castle. Two massive log fires burned at either end of the cavernous hall, despite the relative warmth of the October weather. A footman came forward with a tray of filled glasses.

  “Whisky, Petra, or something less powerful?” Hamish asked his sister-in-law. “It’s a customary welcome here in Innis, but we are adaptable.”

  “As am I, Hamish. I’ll drink whisky with pleasure.” She took the crystal glass from the footman’s tray. The children were still surging around Guy, but less vociferously, although he once again had the small girl on his hip. It was a novel aspect to her husband, Petra thought, raising her glass in unison with her hosts. If asked she would have guessed he had little time and even less interest in children. Clearly she had more to discover about him.

  “Come, Petra, let me show you all the things you need to know to be comfortable at Innes,” Elinor said when the whisky had been drunk. “The castle is a warren and you don’t need to know your way around all of it.” She linked arms companionably with Petra and led her out through a small door at the rear of the hall. “This is a quick backstairs way to your quarters. I’ll show you the more formal route after dinner, but you should never need to use it unless you wish to.”

  Petra followed her up a narrow flight of stairs onto a broad square landing, large casement windows looking out over the loch. Elinor opened double doors to the right of the landing. “Here you are. It’s where Guy always sleeps. I hope you like it.” She sounded a little anxious as she flung an encompassing hand out to indicate the space.